‘Ben . . . Ben . . . can you hear me? Ben, open your eyes . . . that’s it. Look at me now. Look at me, Ben. That’s good.’

Ben blinks up. A man blinks down at him. Bloodshot eyes in a face filled with broken blood vessels across his nose and a salt-and-pepper-streaked beard.

‘Ben? Can you hear me?’

Ben wonders where the hell he is this time. That this man is a doctor is obvious just from the tone of voice, and of course the white lab coat and stethoscope give it away. For a second Ben thinks he is back in the real world in a normal hospital until his eyes start focusing properly and he looks at the bare concrete ceiling above his head. I’m not dead. Harry didn’t take him back. A weird feeling of relief rushes through him.

‘Are you in pain?’ the doctor asks him in a deep voice that sounds somewhat rough, like he’s got a bad throat.

Ben goes to speak but his mouth and throat are too dry. The doctor helps him sit up a bit and presses a cup of water to his lips with trembling hands. Ben gulps greedily with an increasing thirst but the doctor pulls the cup away.

‘That’s enough for now,’ the doctor says firmly, taking the cup away from Ben’s hands as he tries to pull it back.

‘Thirsty,’ Ben says, staring at the cup.

‘Good. That’s a good sign,’ the doctor says, putting the cup down. ‘You can have some more in a minute when I’ve assessed you. Now, do you feel pain anywhere?’

‘Everywhere,’ Ben says instantly before actually checking to see what hurts and what doesn’t. He tries to focus on his body, gently tensing the muscles in his legs and arms first then tentatively shifting position before glancing back up at the doctor. ‘Not really,’ he admits.

‘Good. That’s a good sign,’ the doctor says again. ‘Follow the light.’ He hovers a small torch in front of Ben’s eyes and moves it left and right a few times as he tracks the beam. ‘Good. Stay still.’ He shines the torch into Ben’s ears then comes back to his eyes, examining him closely before putting the torch away and reaching out to grasp Ben’s skull between his hands that start to probe as though checking for bumps.

‘Who are you?’ Ben asks while getting his head groped.

‘John Watson.’

‘Huh?’

‘And no I am not making that up,’ the doctor says in a tone that suggests he’s said the same thing many times. ‘It’s a common name.’

‘Doctor Watson?’

‘Yes. I am Doctor Watson.’

‘Oh.’

‘My father was called John.’

‘Oh.’

‘And my grandfather.’

‘Oh.’

‘My great-grandfather was called—’

‘John?’

‘Hamish.’

‘Hamish?’

‘Doctor Watson’s middle name.’

‘What is?’

‘Hamish.’

‘Hamish is Doctor Watson’s middle name?’ Ben asks, fighting the confusion to keep up with him.

‘Yes. Doctor John Hamish Watson.’